Fill in the Blanks
by skabs
Summary: Alex gets called into the "Bank" and his life is turned upside down. Maybe he has a chance at a normal life? Alex Rider/ Harry Potter/ Numb3rs crossover. My first Tri-Cross! Enjoy
1. Chapter 1

Sorry, I ended up posting this twice. For some reason the site italicised everything... I dunno...

Anyway, this is a brand new story, I really have no clue where it came from, but I was listening to Senses Fail when I was trying to work on Taking out the Trash, and this came out instead (apparently songs about digging up your dead girlfriend, or cutting into peoples ankles or "I'll dispose of you like a lighter out of fuel", or "Just the scent of you is enough to make me sick", are not conductive toward continuing Harry and Dawns relationship... who knew?). To tell the truth, I wasn't even thinking this would be as long as it already is... and I stopped at a point where I could just say, f*ck it, it's done... but I feel like this is something I could work on for a while as I fail to come up with ideas on my other storys. Very wide range of uses for this one. BTW I haven't read all of the Alex Rider series yet, so please forgive me if I mistep... I have them all, I just haven't read them all yet. I'm sure I don't have Alex's smart mouth down yet, but with some work I feel I could improve on that. So enjoy! And I promise I'll stop listening to Senses Fail and get to work on my other storys soon.

Alex Rider/ Harry Potter/ Numb3rs do not belong to me. They belong, respectively, to Anthony Horowitz/ JK Rowling/ Nicolas Falacci and Cheryl Heuton

* * *

Alex sat sullenly in the wide open waiting area of The Royal and General "Bank", a book open in his lap, "The Once and Future King". He had to read it for an English assignment, but his attention wasn't on the printed page. It was on the suddenly slammed open door of a conference room on the second floor balcony. The noise echoed throughout the marble laden space, breaking the peaceful "quiet" noise of several secretaries typing away.

"You know exactly why I'm so pissed Blunt," the voice echoed down, hostile, disgusted, uncaring of the fact that the information was being shared. "I've sent for him, and you're going to explain that you're terribly sorry that you've been jerking him around these past three years, and then you're going to fix this bloody mess!"

"Mr. Potter," Mr. Blunt started in an unusually placating tone. At least it sounded placating to Alex, who'd never actually heard that from the head of MI6 before.

"Don't you try to smooth this over, Blunt. I get back from a THREE YEAR stint of doing ABSOLUTELY BLOODY NOTHING, to find that my partner has been MURDERED, and you sent his FOURTEEN YEAR OLD NEPHEW in to finish his job!"

At this point Alex, seventeen years old now, sat up straight, not even pretending to read anymore. He needed to hear this.

"Mr. Potter, undercover work…"

"I know what undercover work entails Mr. Blunt," his voice was sharp, incredulous, but insistent. "I also know that you could have pulled me off my boring, completely unnecessary job whenever you felt like it. In fact, you were _required_ to. My contract stipulated the same as Ian's…"

"Mr. Potter, if you could just come back to my office," Mr. Blunt was obviously nervous now, Alex was positive that he'd never heard anything quite so spectacular before in his life, and never would again. Mr. Blunt was nothing if not monotone and poker faced. "We could discuss the contributions the younger Rider has…"

"Contributions?" the word was hissed, but still carried that hint of severe frustration that put an end to Blunts words. "As in_ plural_? As in more than one? As in, you've been employing a bloody minor to _spy_ for you?"

Now as much as Alex hadn't wanted to go on the missions, he'd done good work. He'd saved the world (kind of), and he found himself a bit insulted at the incredulity in the man's voice.

"You know my stand on child mercenaries Blunt, a view Ian and I held in similar respects…"

"And he went ahead and trained his nephew anyway," Blunt smugly retorted.

"Ian was making sure that Alex could live to see his eighteenth birthday, if anything had gone wrong, if Scorpia had found out... He was not building up a child spy for your convenience," Potter took a deep breath, probably ruffled a hand through his hair if the rustling sound Alex heard was any indication. "You were supposed to contact me if anything happened. You signed an agreement Blunt, which you ignored, blatantly. Alex was supposed to grow up normal, how his father wanted. That wasn't possible, Ian couldn't do that, he wasn't able to do normal. That does not mean that he was creating a weapon for your use."

Alex had forgotten the book, forgotten the secretaries all around him, and just sat still. How was this guy able to see so much of what Alex felt without ever meeting him? That was exactly how he felt. He was trained as a weapon, according to most of MI6. His uncle had been building up his skills so he would be the ultimate spy. And somehow, whenever he heard that, it didn't seem quite right.

Here was his proof- in the tight, irritated voice that bounced off cold walls and battled against Blunts arrogance.

"But even if all of that wasn't relevant, you breached contract Blunt," Alex had heard snide before, he'd even heard pompous. But this tone was triumphant, as if the speaker had just won a million pounds and he wasn't quite sure what to do with it. "And if my information is correct, you never got Alex to sign on the dotted line either. Of course, since he is still a minor, even if you had, it wouldn't be admissible in court. Not that this is something you'd want to take to court."

"Potter, what are you saying?" Blunts voice clipped now, low, almost impossible to hear.

"I quit," Alex could hear the smile in his voice. "I quit, and I'm taking my Godson with me."

He could have heard a pin drop in the sudden stillness. Not one finger clicked on a keyboard, not one breath was released as the entire office settled for the answer.

The word _Godson_ echoed in Alex's ears. He wondered, if this time, it was for real. He almost missed Blunts pained rejoinder.

"You can't quit."

"Watch me," Potter snarled.

"We'll tell them where you are, you know. We'll tell them you're still alive." The smug threat was obvious.

Alex could hardly believe it, but then again, this was the man who threatened to deport Jack and sell his house, send him to a dilapidated orphanage if he didn't cooperate. Whoever Potter was hiding from must have been huge.

"You can't hold that over me any longer," Potter was quiet now, and it sounded like he was somewhat disappointed. "A lot has happened in three years of a nothing assignment. They no longer worry me. Now I am leaving, I am taking Alex and Jack and we are leaving the UK. You won't ever have to worry about us again. In fact, if I have to, you won't even remember our names."

Alex had definitely heard scarier threats in his life, but he'd never heard one so calmly stated. Potter was deadly serious.

"He won't go with you Potter. Your story is thin. He doesn't even know you exist!"

"He does," Potter started down the stairs, turning around the corner his small smirk lit into a full smile when his eyes spotted Alex. "I sent for him, remember?"

His hair was full and wavy, naturally black against olive tanned skin. His body was lanky and toned with steady shoulders and thin hips that carried straight legged jeans and thin fit tee-shirts well. He carried a sports jacket folded over an arm, and a devilish grin as Alex let their eyes meet. Startling green behind rectangular framed glasses, that shifted away from his as a shadow fell over Alex's shoulder.

The sound of a candy wrapper crinkling identified her as the Head of Special Operations of MI6, Mrs. Jones.

"Jones," Potter nodded with a little smirk, then pulled a candy tin from his pocket and offered it to the stone faced woman. "Lemon drop?"

The only answer was another crinkle as she unwrapped the peppermint and plopped it in her mouth with a disdainful sniff. Obviously the two didn't get along.

"Alex, thank you for coming down," She stepped in between Alex and Potter, dismissing the latter carelessly. "We have a favor to ask of you." She was just staring down at Alex, as if the last five minutes had never occurred. As if he hadn't heard the argument, as if he was just going to heel like a puppy and take whatever shit she handed him. Once again, he was simply amazed at how they thought he'd just do what they wanted, jerking his chain for the simple reason that they could. Obviously the heart to heart they'd had after he'd almost shot her didn't apply in this situation.

"Actually I'm afraid Alex and I had an appointment for lunch. You'll just have to catch up some other time," his voice was pure ice. He was not amused with Jones's attempt to subvert the teen.

"I'm afraid National Security comes before lasagna, Mr. Potter," Mrs. Jones actually grabbed Alex's sleeve as she turned to "guide" Alex up the stairs.

"So much you know," Potter muttered before stepping in front of the lady. "As Alex's legal guardian of record, I refuse to allow him an after school job. As such, you are required to release him. If you do not I will bring the _full extent of the law_ down upon you. Am I making myself clear?" According to the suddenly loose grip, and the pasty pallor on Mrs. Jones's cheeks, he was. There were innuendos there that Alex wasn't quite sure he'd caught. Something about this man frightened the usually unflappable heads of MI6.

The jury was out on whether or not that was a good thing.

* * *

"Should we swing on by and pick up Jack for lunch?" Mr. Potter was smiling faintly, as if determined to leave the unpleasant fight in the lobby behind them, determined to start off a cordial relationship with Alex.

"She should be home," Alex replied, opening the passenger side door of the metallic blue Fiat Punto; not the car one would expect from a secret agent, but Alex supposed it was prudent of him not to advertise the fact. In fact, basically nothing about the man screamed spy. He was hesitantly pleasant, as if unsure of his reception, and he was shorter than Alex. It had been a bit of a shock when he stood up and realized that the man was a full head shorter than the teen, probably a bit taller than Jack, but that wasn't saying much. Alex wondered how exactly such an unassuming man had managed to maneuver the heads of MI6 to a standstill…

Alex took note as he buckled in, that Potter carefully swept the parking lot with a knowing gaze before clipping on his seatbelt, then looking over to make sure Alex had done the same. It was a familiar glance, from years ago; his uncle was fanatic about seat belts. It was that same habit that had gotten Alex curious about the cover story surrounding his death, and then had gotten him into several life altering incidents that lead to his working for MI6. The cover story was a car accident, in which Ian hadn't been wearing his seatbelt. In reality the car "accident" involved a machine gun, a horrible spray of bullets and blood all over the front seat and, incidentally, his uncle.

It was slightly odd to see that same glance now, when he never expected to see it again. Something must have shown in his face, because Potter shrugged, not meeting his eyes.

"Ian taught me to drive," he said, as if knowing exactly what Alex had been thinking of.

"Me too," Alex replied without really thinking. That earned him a wry grin and head shake. Of course Ian taught Alex to drive… the second he was tall enough to reach the peddles; several years before it was legal in any country.

"Any questions?" Potter asked as he started the car and swung it out of the parking lot.

"You told Blunt I was your Godson," Alex stared straight out the window. "I haven't had much luck with Godfathers lately."

"Technically I'm not," Potter adjusted his grip on the steering wheel. "I'd never met your parents, but Ian appointed me your legal guardian if anything were to happen. He never much liked Anthony."

"Anthony?"

"Yes, the man your parents appointed your Godfather. I thought that was who you were talking about?"

"I only knew him as Ash," Alex scoffed as he sat back into the seat cushion.

"Any other questions? To tell you the truth, I thought you'd at least ask my name," the little grin was back, he was amused but not mean with it. It was a gentle teasing that Alex hadn't heard from anyone but Jack, ever.

"All right then, what's your name, rank, and serial number?"

"My full name is Harrison James Potter," he shrugged. "No rank as far as I know, and nobody ever bothered giving me a serial number. Most people call me Harry, or Potter if you're feeling condescending."

"I like Harrison," he tested the waters, but the man just shrugged.

"If that is how you would like to address me Alex, I am perfectly fine with that."

"I could call you Bubba, I suppose…"

"Ah, but then how would you distinguish me from the other Bubbas in your life?" the tone was just catty enough that Alex knew no offense had been taken, but Alex would not be calling him Bubba.

They lapsed into silence, not awkward yet, they didn't know each other well enough for that. But apparently Harrison knew his way around town, and right up to Alex's home, no directions needed.

"We're being followed," Alex pointed out as they drove past his school. The black BMW 335 Coupe had been trailing them since the parking lot. Alex knew he didn't need to point it out, but he felt like being helpful… maybe showing that he did know what he was doing.

"As if they need to," Harrison muttered, showing contempt as he didn't even glance at the rearview mirrors. He'd known about them, he just didn't care. "If you and Jack want to leave with me, there will be no way they'll ever be able to follow us. Following now is just a waste of time."

"How so?" Alex asked, despite himself. He hadn't meant to sound so interested. But nobody had given him a choice since his uncle died. Harrison was still using the words, "if" and "want".

"Exit strategy is for after lunch Alex," Harrison smiled, pulled into Alex's street and parked the car. "Go on in, get Jack, tell her we're going for Chinese." He looked back in his mirrors and his grin turned slightly devious as he clicked off the engine.

"You're going to wait out here?"

"I'm going to have a bit of a chat with the agents over there; I'll be inside in a bit. Don't come back out until I give the all clear." It was a tone Alex had heard from Ian before. _Do as I command. Now._

Alex reacted to it before it consciously registered in his mind.

* * *

"Jack!" he shouted out, racing to the back of the house as he heard the clatter of dishes in the kitchen. She stepped out of the kitchen with a glass still in her hand, wiping water spots with a dish towel.

"How long are you going to be gone for now?" she asked with a weary sigh, resigned to her charges "job".

"I'm not going anywhere. At least not right now, I think." Alex sat at the kitchen table and watched as Jack set the last of the dishes aside, then turned to him with a slight frown.

"What did they want you for then?"

"I guess that depends. I had a really weird day."

"A really weird day is the least of it Alex," Harry scoffed as he stepped up behind the teen. Alex jumped in alarm, he hadn't heard the cat footed agent. Jack, however was staring at the man like she'd seen a corpse.

"Harry?" she dropped the dish towel, with a wet little plop on the ground.

"Yes Jack?" he was smirking now, Alex could hear it in his voice.

"You're not dead?" the little question didn't mean anything to Alex, but apparently a hell of a lot to Harry. The man swore brilliantly as he maneuvered around Alex and scooped Jack up into a tight embrace.

"Who the hell told you that load of bull?"

"A-after… When Ian… they told me…" Jack had little tears trailing gently down her cheeks, she was breathing in rapidly, trying to control the anxiety that threatened to drown her.

"They didn't want me back right away. They couldn't handle me without Ian, and they knew that. I didn't even know Ian was dead until I spoke with Judy today. I went right to Blunt and quit. I'm taking you and Alex with me, if you'd like to leave."

"But you didn't tell me…" Jack protested, pushing back and smacking Harry on the shoulder. "You and Ian didn't tell me what you did! If Alex hadn't been dragged into this shit I would never have known!"

"Does that mean you don't want to come with me?" Harry redoubled his grip on Jacks waist and pulled her closer.

"Ahem," Alex cut in, painfully aware that his housekeeper and supposed guardian had once been… something… to each other. It was rapidly dissolving into a soap opera, and he just had to cut into the tension. Apparently reminding them that he was watching was enough. They jumped apart like scalded cats.

"So… lunch anyone?" Harry asked, his cheeks burning a bit pink. Jack nodded, a bit bemused and pink herself.

"There's a nice pub a few blocks away," Harry mused. "If it's still there?" He turned to Jack, who avoided his gaze but nodded again.

* * *

Harry was nothing if not observant. He hid a smirk as Alex leaned over and speared a piece of chicken from Jack's plate. She growled a bit and held her fork as if it were a fencing foil, ready to do battle. According to the glint in Alex's tawny eyes, he was up for the challenge.

If he didn't know any better he would have assumed they were siblings. Both blond haired and smiling, Jack had brilliant blue eyes, Alex brown. But the body language was of two people who knew exactly how the other would react. Jack managed to knock the chicken off of Alex's fork, and she laughed as it went flying across the room. She choked back on the laugh as it smacked a man in the back of the head. The man paused, looked around for a disturbance, shrugged, and went back to his meatloaf.

"Oops…" she dissolved into giggles when she noted Harry's raised eyebrow.

"Impressive aim," he complimented. Alex just tucked his surfer length hair behind an ear and nodded his head regally.

"Why thank you good sir," he smiled. "As they do say, practice makes perfect."

"And you've been practicing to bean middle aged business men with bad rugs, with flying pieces of poultry?"

"That rug needs to go. We're hoping to get it greasy enough that he'll have to take it off." He replied seriously, before joining Jack in her giggling.

"So how come I've never heard of you before?" Alex asked, counting on the abrupt question to get a clear answer.

"Go ahead Alex, be blunt why don't you?" Harry asked, amused.

"I don't want to be Blunt. He smells like spinach." The unintended pun slipped out before he could stop it. There was a slight pause, then Harry did something that his uncle never really could let himself do.

He laughed.

He really laughed. It wasn't a twitch of a lip that found something amusing. No, this was a full bodied laugh that threatened to unbalance the man and topple him off his chair.

"You know Alex, I often asked Ian why he never brought Harry over. He said it had something to do with unintended consequences. I never understood that…" she trailed off as Harry finally brought his mad giggling under control.

"Yes, he does smell rather stale doesn't he?" Harry coughed and then slipped his arm over Jacks shoulders giving her a tiny hug. "The reason I was never allowed to the house was because Ian didn't want anybody following me to get to the two of you."

"So who was after you?" Jack asked, curious, she shoved her plate away to make room for her elbow, then propped her chin on her upraised fist to watch Harry full on instead of sideways. Alex just leaned forward a bit, showing every interest, but Harry caught the slight twitch of eyes that scanned the room every now and again. The poor kid had been trained to the best of Ian's abilitys and then pushed beyond. Harry knew what that felt like. He sighed and took a sip of water.

"All right, I guess this would be easier if I told it like a story somewhat…" he motioned for the check and paid cash before standing and snagging his coat from the chair back. "Lets go to the park, this place is too crowded for fairy tales."

* * *

The day was warm with sunlight, but a cool breeze flittered through the trees and the wooden playground making it light jacket weather. It was midday Monday, so the playground was abandoned, its swings swaying with lonely creaks. Jack immediately sat down on one, Alex on another, Harry leaned against the cross beam and just watched as they pushed off and dangled. Back and forth, back and forth, he felt that he could just watch them do that forever.

It had been an unpleasant shock to his system when he walked into head quarters and Judy Mason, who had been somewhat of a secretary to Ian and a few other agents, pulled him aside. Her eyes had gotten so wide, she almost went for her pistol when she saw him, then almost cried when he grinned at her. It was obvious no one had told him, apparently, so she shook her head when he asked her a question and yanked him into Ian's old office. It hadn't changed much; mostly it was noticeable that the few things he'd had in there that were personal where gone. Judy was hesitant but she explained Ian's death, probably expecting to have to comfort him, but she was even more reluctant when she talked about Alex. Harry used every bit of his persuasive abilities, tricks and blinds to get her to spill. When it all came out, he'd been seeing red.

He told Judy to call Alex and have him come in for a meeting like he normally would. This time it pulled him out of Spanish class, but missing that wouldn't kill the boy. Besides, if Harry had his way, it wouldn't matter because Alex would be leaving London with him… and Jack…

Harry sighed as he watched her swing. Her hair flew away from her face, soft, then back again catching a few strands on her lips. She was giving him time, he knew, to decide how much to tell, to confess. He was stalling, but he knew, without a doubt, that now was the time for full disclosure.

He jerked his ankle a bit, feeling his wand against his calf where it was perpetually strapped, ran his fingers through his messy hair and fingered the emergency potion beads woven into tiny braids at the base of his skull. He shrugged his shoulders to settle the jacket and make sure his concealed holster was easy to get access to, his gun still nestled on the side of his ribcage.

He wondered idly if Alex had any weapons on him? He didn't walk like he did, but Ian could've trained that out of him, as he did Harry. Had MI6 gotten him so far into the mindset of a spy that he was ready for anything? He supposed he'd just have to find out.

He cleared his throat, finally sure of his first words, and just sighed when two sets of intensely curious eyes pierced into his.

"I guess, Alex, that this all starts with your mother," Harry remembered Helen Beckett. She had been his nurse, at one point, when his hunt went wrong and he'd been exposed to something that the muggles all around him had insisted was radioactive. It turned out to be nothing more than a magically enhanced glow worm, but he'd been bundled off to the hospital before he could object. There he met Helen, who'd been in her mid-twenty's and already seeing John Rider. For some strange reason after he'd defeated Voldemort he went back to the Rider's, they'd gotten married in the interim and they'd welcomed him with open arms. Ian hadn't been so nice.

Ian knew there was something odd about Harry, and he made it his business to find out what. He was, after all, a professional spy, very good at his job. He'd taken Harry away, for what he told Helen was a "man talk" and then proceeded to interrogate the teen until he'd been shaking and almost completely unable to respond to further questioning. Ian had walked away then, and spent so much time away that Harry wondered if he'd just been abandoned again. But Ian came back, with a warm blanket and a bottle of water, and then just sat next to Harry as the shivering stopped and the water was consumed. He told Harry that he'd been aware of the "conflict", is what he called the battle with Voldemort and his Death Eaters, as if it were nothing more than a small time terrorist with delusions of grandeur. But apparently that was Ian's job; taking care of lunatics who had enough backing to be dangerous.

Then he'd asked Harry if he knew what he'd like to do with the rest of his life.

What had followed was an intense training course that lasted over three years, pounding not only military strategy into his head and training his body to allow that strategy to be pulled off, but also basic knowledge and high school equivalency that he hadn't gotten due to going to a magic school that didn't place any emphasis on living in the real world. In the meantime Helen and John had Alex, John went undercover with Cobra, and Harry spent a lot of time holding Alex and reassuring Helen that John would be just fine.

Harry was sent on his first real mission just as John was coming back from Cobra, he didn't make it back in time for the funeral. But he'd taken care of Alex when Ian had no clue what to do. He'd taught Ian this time, about diapering and holding, and caring for Alex. He tried to be around when Ian couldn't be, and vice versa, but Ian decided it would be easier to get a Nanny, and subjected many to horribly intrusive background checks. Not that the poor women who showed up even knew about them, but the average time one lasted was four to six months, once subjected to Ians absentminded imperious behavior.

Unfortunately around the time Alex was turning four MI6 got some intelligence that the remaining children of the Death Eaters were gathering, trying to once again resurrect their lord. Of course Malfoy wasn't really trying all that hard, he just wanted his sycophants back, and decided that was the easiest way to do it. So MI6 sent Harry in to determine if there was any threat. He'd been discovered fairly quickly, due to a mole in MI6 headquarters (who shall remain nameless and was summarily "fired") and Harry had to go into hiding… well away from Ian and his nephew.

Of course going into hiding didn't mean he stopped working. He was loaned out to the Colonies, down to the South African consulate, around Canada of all places… he'd been everywhere, and he only wanted to go back home.

So he went back to England, taking his leave time that he'd accrued over eight years of not taking a break in anyway shape or form, he'd a lot of free time. He was sitting in a bar, wondering whether or not to risk a stop in on Ian, when a pretty blond sat next to him and started talking about her charge. Alex was a bright, beautiful, intelligent boy, who needed to be put behind bars. Harry had been startled into a laugh, and Jack had smiled at him. They'd spent the rest of the night dodging various subjects and still managed to find out more about the other than they'd ever really shared with anyone else, and when the night closed and they'd had to go their separate ways, Harry moved in for a light kiss and Jack deepened it.

The next day as Harry was at the grocery he'd run right into Ian, who had a basket over his arm and a slightly harried expression on his face.

"Where is the Adobo sauce and why does she need it?" He'd asked a bemused Harry, but was shown where to find it, and the other various things on his housekeepers list. He'd asked about Alex, and was only a bit shocked to find that the Jack he'd met the night before had been talking about Ian's Alex.

From there apparently Ian had mentioned the encounter to Jack and Jack had gotten it into her head to bring Harry over for dinner. Harry and Ian both extended apologies, but explained that Harry had to go away and wouldn't be able to make it for dinner.

Of course he wasn't going anywhere, and eventually Jack discovered that though Harry liked her, and didn't have a problem with Ian, he was never going to stop by the house for any reason, not even to pick her up for a date.

It was one in the many reasons she'd wondered why she stayed with Ian. Just one more question that didn't have an answer that he'd give her: Harry just avoided her eyes and changed the subject whenever it was brought up. She usually didn't even notice that he'd done that until after dinner and they were tangled up together in his sheets. That was when she often wondered if she'd gone insane.

Harry finally blurted out something about working in the same bank and employees not being social was a must and a whole slew of things that just broke out from his mouth that tangled together until she was almost dizzy with his accent and just jumped him to shut him up.

Then two weeks later, Ian was dead, and they told her Harry was gone as well.

Three years later she pondered over that phrasing and kicked herself, listened as Harry described his job to Alex and explained that one of the reasons they'd never really met was that a group of people had wanted Harry dead.

"I didn't want to bring them to you or Jack, you wouldn't have been able to handle this threat. Your mother, as I said before, is really where all of this starts. You see, your mother was what is known as a Squib."

"A Squib?" Alex asked, clearly unimpressed by the terminology. Jack, though, stopped swinging and stared up at Harry with her mouth hanging open.

"No way!" She got up and moved to Harry, pushing aside his bangs and then frowned. "Where's the scar?"

"What?" Harry shook his head, mostly to get Jack to back up, and then sighed. "It's barely noticeable anymore, and I'm assuming you've read the books?"

"What books?" Alex jumped up to join them, to remind them he was there.

"Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, The Chamber of Secrets, The …" Harry closed his palm over Jacks mouth carefully, and sighed.

"I'm a wizard, I do magic, and some of my more impressive exploits were turned into children's books and horribly expanded on. With my permission of course, she was going to write them anyway, but I did give a few interviews."

"Why?" Jack asked, pulling her mouth away from his hand.

"Because, the more unbelievable the story, the better hidden I am," he shook his head. "Besides, do you know how many Harry Potter's are living in London? It's a fairly common name, as evidenced by the fact that you never even connected them."

"Well, I would be expecting someone older and married! You never married Ginny Weasley!"

"There is no Ginny Weasley," Harry smirked.

"But the Chamber!" she protested.

"Was Luna Lovegood, but she didn't give her permission for that scene to use her name, so Rowling gave the twins a sister, and while she was at it, a love interest for Harry. Really Jack, three fourths of those books are completely inaccurate. But they are good books, fast reads, expands the imagination, don't you agree?"

"Sorry, I haven't had the time to read them," Alex shrugged, "they've been keeping me busy."

"Well, that's going to stop," Harry explained. "If you would like to, I have several property's around the globe, we could move to Australia where the surfing if always awesome. We could move up to Canada, if you like Moose's. Africa, if you want a gnarly tan and a plate in your lip. Or go to America, if you want to impress the Yanks with your pretty, pretty accent."

Jack was nearly vibrating at that last one, Harry and Alex exchanged glances.

"Africa it is!" and they pumped hands, while Jack clearly wanted to smack them both.

* * *

Moving to California had been easy. Dealing with Jacks tears as she glomped her parents hadn't been. Alex was most definitely feeling guilty for keeping her away from her family for so long.

They were quickly welcomed into her family, and everything was set up quickly in the following weeks. Alex didn't say anything about Jack and Harry sharing the master bedroom, which they did even if Jack did insist on having her own bedroom set up. He was enrolled in a High School with some of Jacks younger cousins who took special delight in introducing him to American Football… he'd come home that day covered in bruises, tired to the bone, and yet less injured than MI6 had managed at some points. Though he vowed never to play that bloody sport again, and when Jack laughed at him he'd scowled, then smiled.

Within four months he was feeling more rested than he had in four years, happier than he could ever remember being, and he finally had friends who didn't think he was a druggy or knew he was a spy.

Harry went to great lengths to keep them both busy, classes in every conceivable karate class, trips to rock climbing points, strength and flexibility training that incorporated things like Parkour and gymnastics. He was well aware of the fact that for the past four years Alex had been sent on life and death missions, kept busy and pumped full of adrenaline. Alex even knew that Harry was trying to keep him occupied so he wouldn't think of his past and maybe have a chance to miss it. They'd sat down and talked it over.

Alex had no problem with maybe going into espionage when he was older, but Harry made him promise to go to College, or maybe a trade school if he found something he liked better. Have something to fall back on. Live like a normal person until after that. Then he could thrown himself head long into danger if he felt like it.

Harry was feeling the same lack of excitement that Alex was feeling, so they helped each other through it. They often joked about it.

"One day at a time," they'd say over coffee, as if in a meeting for AA. Two years later Alex was busy at Cal Sci Technological Institute in California, having discovered a love for Mechanical Engineering, and Harry finally had the nerve to ask Jack to marry him.

They were happy, normal, and finally free from their obligations in England. A nice normal life, that is, until Alex walked into his dorm room and found an assassin bleeding on his sheets.

* * *

Ok, so while listening to Senses Fail (the exact lyrics- "So let me take this medicine/ To quench my love for violent things/ My swan song will/ Be like a bullet laced in anger/ As the razor cuts/ The soft spot on your heel") I decided that the assassin might as well be Yassen... does he ever come back to life? I remember him being killed on Airforce One right? Well, I like the guy, so I'm going to use him.


	2. Chapter 2

I was sick today, so i stayed home from work. After sleeping off my nausea I started typing and this came out. I think I was just tired, working at a pharmacy that went from doing one hundred and fifty scripts a day to five hundred over night can be tiring... hopefully I'll feel better tommorrow... if not I blame my brother for getting me sick. It's always his fault.

* * *

It wasn't hard to recognize the man, though it had been quite a few years since they'd last parted. Of course Alex hadn't thought to see the man again, considering Yassen had fallen out of a plane… while it was flying.

In the second it took his brain to re-engage his body had acted. He took the rubber band from the inside doorknob and wrapped it around the outside one, closing the door with a thud to announce his presence just in case the assassin was asleep. Any attempt to sneak up on the man might cause them both serious injuries. Yassen because any sudden movements might irritate the obvious wound, Alex because Yassen might act on instinct and kill him.

"I'm not asleep," Yassen muttered and made an aborted movement, as if he wanted to sit up. Obviously lying on his back was not his preferred method to meet an adversary, if that's what Alex was. Alex just shook his head and locked the door before stepping closer to the man bleeding on his bed.

"What are you doing here?" Alex asked. Yassen snorted; an attempt at brevity that didn't quite match the grimace on his face.

"That's your first question? I was expecting something along the lines of "why are you alive?" not a petulant…" he groaned as he jarred his elbow trying to sit up again. Alex just approached and placed his hand on the older man's chest, pushing him down into the mattress.

"You're bleeding on my sheets, I think it's obvious you're alive," Alex produced a pair of scissors from under his bed and approached to cut off the tightened sleeve that made a tourniquet over the wound. Yassen flinched a bit, but held still as Alex carefully peeled the fabric away. The first layer of blood had scabbed a bit, gluing the healthy skin to the cotton, but pulling it away pulled awkwardly at the hole in Yassen's arm. "Hold on," Alex got up and went to the tiny bathroom he shared with his roommate, wet a paper towel and came back to dab at the crusted blood.

"You look like your father," Yassen said as he watched Alex throw the bloody sleeve away in a plastic bag left over from the last supermarket run for junk food.

"And you've been shot," Alex didn't really know why he was helping, but knew that the man in front of him meant him no real harm… at least this time he didn't, and each time he'd met with the man he'd always managed to get away. Yassen had known his father, Alex mused, maybe that's why he was hesitant to just watch the man bleed to death.

"It's just a graze," Yassen assured, though he felt a bit light headed.

"The bullet is still lodged in your arm," Alex sighed. "I suppose you came for a bit of light surgery? What makes you think I'm even capable…"

"Alex," Yassen interrupted. "I know everything about you, from the karate classes you take to the first aid classes you teach." Alex blushed a bit, knowing that Yassen was probably putting it delicately. If the assassin claimed to know everything, then he knew absolutely everything, and it was useless to try to hide from him. Saying he was World-Class was putting it lightly.

"What are you doing in LA? Here to kill someone?" Alex asked, snapped really, as he got to his feet and retreated back into the bathroom for his (extensive) first aid kit and some more paper towels.

Yassen could have lied, could have said that no, that wasn't what he was doing, let Alex bandage him up and get gone before the young man really found out the truth. It was something Alex was very good at, figuring things out. It was that trait that made him so good at mechanical engineering. He kept bulldogging the problem until he found it and beat it into submission. So Yassen decided to go the less difficult route and tell the truth.

"I was hired as an assassin this time." He admitted, staring straight into Alex's considering gaze.

"For a mafia don? An insane weapons smuggler? Is your target a mad drug runner that took off with the boss's cash?" Alex guessed wildly as he settled his elaborate first aid kit on his desk and started disinfecting everything that might possibly come in contact with the wound before slapping on a pair of rubber gloves.

"An anonymous benefactor."

"Don't jerk me around Gregorovich, do you want this to scar horribly?" Alex still had his back to Yassen, but the man could see the tension in his shoulders. It wasn't that he really wanted to know, but he couldn't stop the curiosity from rearing its head.

"Your mother was rather remarkable," Yassen continued as if Alex hadn't spoken. The non-sequitor pissed Alex off. His mother had nothing to do with the assassin, and he intended to cut that conversation off. Yassen hissed as Alex turned and jerked his arm around, settling it on the clean desk and manipulating the limb to get the best angle.

"So what happened?" Alex asked, as if he really didn't care. But his shoulders where still tense, he really did care. This was why Yassen had gone to Alex, vulnerable, he wanted to ask for help and he couldn't trust any of his LA contacts with what he'd done.

"As evidenced by the bullet in my arm," Yassen hissed again as Alex carefully clamped tweezers onto the bullet and started to, carefully, extract it.

"38," Alex identified as he dropped it carefully onto the paper towel on the desk.

"I fucked up," Yassen admitted as Alex started to thread a taper needle.

"You really suck at your job then, don't you?" Alex said absently as he carefully sutured the wound shut. Yassen ground his teeth as each tiny stab shot lances of pain from the bullet hole up his entire arm. Alex had asked that at just the right time, Yassen couldn't kill him for being a dick if he was concentrated on his arm.

"Who was your target?" Alex asked as he finished off the last stitch and smirked absently at the perfect row of stitches. "Six stitches, not too shabby."

"Her name is Jacklyn Potter," Yassen watched as Alex's face bleached white, his hand gripped the assassins arm so tightly the Russian was faintly afraid he might snap the bone.

"Get up, get out," Alex stood and backed away, his spine straight, his knees crouched slightly in a defensive pose.

"I told you, I fucked up. I wasn't careful; I didn't do a thorough background check on my target. When I realized who she was I aborted the mission," Yassen just sat, slumped against the wall, exhaustion evident in his very posture.

"Why do you care?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"I've lost count of how many times you've tried to kill me," Alex snarled.

"Alex my dear, if I was trying to kill you, you'd be dead."

A brisk knock on the door interrupted Alex's sure to be witty rejoiner.

"Dude! Lexy! I need my shit!"

"My roommate," Alex cautiously turned his back to Yassen and gathered an overnight bag from under the opposite bed. He stripped off his t-shirt, dotted as it was with Yassen's blood, and unhooked the button on his jeans. He ran his fingers through his hair, tossling it a bit, before opening the door with a wry grin.

"Don't come back before noon," he hissed, tossed the bag to his friend and shut the door harshly, leaning against it as Yassen smiled.

"I'm your assignation for the night?" He asked. Alex blushed, well aware that he looked like he just climbed out of bed and was intent on climbing right back into it with whatever willing woman his roommate thought was in their room. It was interesting, Yassen noted, that when Alex blushed it wasn't only his high cheekbones that turned red.

"Look, I'm tired," Alex started as he started for the dresser. Pulling a new t-shirt from the top drawer he turned to Yassen.

"And I'm injured," he stated. "And as much as I hate to admit weakness, I cannot move at the moment. I've lost too much blood." Alex had to agree. The man was so pale he was whiter than a set of bleached bones.

"You can stay here for tonight, but you're gone in the morning," he waited for the nodding confirmation. "And you tell me everything you know about who wants Jack dead."

When Yassen finished talking it was finally twilight, and Alex was beyond tired. Still it was early, and he knew that his night wasn't over. Yassen had finally fallen asleep when the phone rang. He answered it with a sigh.

"Hello Jack."

* * *

Special Agent Donald Eppes had seen many crime scenes in his life time. More than he really wanted to see, in fact. On the other hand, not many left this level of impact in his mind. This had been a shoot out on a grand level, as indicated by the number of body's left cooling on the black street pavement, and it looked like the main target had gotten away. He watched his crime scene guys mopping up blood samples and taking numerous photographs so they could track bullet paths and placements of shots taken. All of the men dead had been shooting at one basic point, as evidenced by the sheer amount of pock marks high on one concrete half wall. Behind that half wall fence someone had crouched, taken six extremely well aimed shots, and left with but one bullet wound in return. He'd left behind the gun used; it looked like he grabbed at his wound and then placed his bloody hand down on the grass to get himself on his feet, and then staggered away, leaving a long line of red on his side of the wall as he regained balance.

The fact that the dead men were all members of a hit squad that operated mainly out of New Orleans and that this had happened in a residential area that had no ties to gang related activity, to any crime other that the occasional teenage spray paint rebellion, was what had brought his special task force out here. That and the fact that it had happened three streets away from his brother Charlie's house, no one at the FBI wanted to get in his way. His father was still at home, having heard the shots early in the evening, he'd called Don and wisely stayed inside. Not everyone was as smart. A man, maybe between Charlie's age and his own, had been clipped by a bullet, and was sitting with his wife in an ambulance. He was smiling, teasing that he always got caught up in trouble, and his wife was too irritated with him to dispute it.

Colby Granger was interviewing them, him being somewhat less intimidating with his gentle southern boy smile than a glowering Don, as a paramedic swabbed the man's forehead.

"So you're saying that you saw the man the rest were shooting at?" Don tuned in as Granger talked.

"Kind of, I saw a tall figure, a shadow, behind my wife. She was in the garden," he turned to kiss her cheek. The paramedic sighed and moved his face back over, not for the first time it seemed, so he could continue cleaning the cut.

"Was he aiming at her?" Don asked, joining the discussion.

"I thought so; I was running before I really knew what I was doing. He seemed to look at her and pause; Jack was turning around, his eyes got big when he saw her face, and he started backing away. When he turned, that's when the fire fight started. The bullets followed him away as he ran, but a stray hit me when I knocked Jack down."

"Did you see him ma'am?" Granger asked, "Any defining characteristics?"

"I saw him from the corner of my eye. Dark hair, taller than me but not by much, broad shoulders, kind of pretty really," she shrugged. I wasn't really paying attention, Harry was running toward me and I was confused because he was looking panicked. Then the guns started and I got disoriented. Harry tackled me and the next thing I know I'm freaking out cause his heads bleeding!"

"Do you know why anyone would want you dead?"

"Me?" Jack started to laugh, then blinked and looked at Harry. "I've gotta call Alex!" She got up before anyone could stop her and ran into their house.

"Alex?" Don asked Harry.

"He's her, well I say son, but not really. We used to live in England, where Jack worked for Alex's uncle as his nanny. His uncle died and Jack decided to adopt Alex. We got married and moved to the states."

"Why does she need to call Alex?"

"It's not going to be a secret, with how much information you can pull up on computers these days, I suppose?"

"Why don't you tell us?" Granger smirked. The more information they got, the less they had to find for themselves.

"Alex's uncle was part of MI6, British Secret Service," Harry shrugged. "She is most likely going to tell him to keep an eye out for any suspicious activity."

"Why doesn't she tell him to come in, we can ask if he knows anything, keep him safe if their goal is hurting his uncle's family for any reason?"

"Alex isn't likely to accept protection. He's a very head strong young man…" he trailed off as Jack's voice shouted from inside the house. The fact that they could hear her screaming all the way in the garden was a testament to her lung capacity.

"WHAT… MEAN … GREGOROVICH? I THOUGHT… DEAD?"

Don and Colby exchanged raised eyebrows. Colby smirked and nodded toward the house.

"I…NO WAY ALEX… GET HIM AWAY NOW!"

"Shit," Harry sighed, then ducked away as the paramedic tried to smooth down the bandage.

"Do you know what she's talking about?" Don asked.

"It seems we know the identity of the man who decided not to shoot Jack," Harry got to his feet and started toward the house, stumbling a little as his center of balance wobbled.

"Here," Colby moved up beside him and steadied him so that the man could straighten up.

"Jack, give me the phone," Harry held out his hand as he walked into the kitchen.

"No, I'm not, Alex… Don't you dare… talk to me… don't shut me…" she frowned at the phone in her hand and shoved it at her husband. "Why don't I just go bake cookies like a good little wife?" she snapped and let go of the extension almost before Harry could grasp it. Then turned on her heel and walked down the hall and into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

"Alex, what's going on?" Harry asked. "Yes, I heard, Yassen… The last I knew he was dead from falling out of a plane with no parachute."

"This is interesting," Colby muttered to Don as they eavesdropped shamelessly.

"Alex, I know he's not… I really must protest," he paused, nodded and sighed while lifting his hand to pinch at the bridge of his nose. The movement upset his glasses, but instead of just adjusting them back he took them off and hooked them on his blood stained shirt so he had his hand free to rub at his eyelids. "You're giving me a headache Alex."

"Well the FBI are here and I'm certain they would like to talk with your guest… Well he didn't shoot anyone in anything other than self defense. It looked like he was going to… yes, Jack… no he seemed to recognize her and back off."

"We just want to talk to him," Don said, meeting Harry's eye. The man nodded.

"I'll just send them over then, how's that?"

Harry yanked the phone away from his ear as the young man on the other end started screaming.

"All right, I won't send them to the dorm, why don't you set up a meeting place? Well there's a lovely café if I recall right outside CalSci property…"

"Charlie's office," Don put in.

"Hold on Alex," Harry looked up at Don. "Excuse me?"

"If Alex goes to CalSci have him go to Professor Eppes's office. Everybody knows where that is, and if I'm seen there it's nothing new, he's my brother."

"Did you hear that? Yes Alex, meet him there in one hour, with or without your guest… It's not a request young man." With that he hung up and looked up at Don. "Our friend Yassen is apparently sleeping off some minor surgery. Alex is reluctant to wake him up at this time; he apparently lost quite a bit of blood. But he will meet us at the office in an hour."


End file.
